


Broken Pieces

by reysrose



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 5x09, Canon Divergence, Disabled Character, F/F, Helping people is stupid okay, Major Character Injury, Physical Disability, they're all going to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-18 19:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: The minefield doesn't go to plan, and Al is left to pick up a lot of little tiny pieces





	1. Chapter 1

Al doesn’t realize what happens until after she realizes that she’s screaming. Her entire left side feels like it’s on fire, and there’s dirt and something metallic in her mouth. She tries to stop screaming, but she can’t, not over the pain. The blood can’t all be hers, can it? She’s soaked in it. 

“AL!” 

That’s Alicia. Where’s her camera? Al goes to move but can’t, a wave of pain blazing through her, and her head falls back against the ground. Morgan. Morgan was trying to defuse a mine. She was helping him. Al rolls herself onto the side, then pushes up on the arm that doesn’t feel like it’s been crushed. Her stomach rolls, whether at the pain or the sight of Morgan’s body splattered across the dirt Al can’t decide. John has his hand over his mouth. Luci isn’t filming anymore, her camera laying in the dirt. They have to get out of the minefield. There’s nothing they can do for Morgan anymore, given that he’s in pieces in the dirt. Blood drios off Al’s nose and she isn’t sure whose it is. Al stands up. 

John dives forward to catch her when she collapses, grabbing her around the waist and then lifting her into his arms. He sucks in a breath and shouts for June. Al’s head is throbbing in time with the rest of her injuries. At least she’s not screaming anymore. People are talking, but not to her, and she lets her eyes start to close. 

“Awake,” John snaps, rubbing his knuckles harshly across her sternum. She curses June for teaching them all basic first aid because it hurts. They’re moving, and pain sears her nerves with every step. She can’t wiggle her fingers, but she can let out a broken howling wail when John stumbles over a crater and jostles her body. 

“I know. Just keep focusing on staying awake.” 

There’s a woman she doesn’t recognize and a little kid in the chaos that surrounds her, laying limp in John’s arms. Al feels sick. Is that the woman in the house? If she had just come out, Morgan wouldn’t be dead and Al wouldn’t be...dying? No, she’s not dying. She would know if she was dying, this is just a minor setback. Someone is tugging something tight around her upper arm and she screams without thinking. 

“Gotta be quiet,” she slurs, turning her face into the soft thing her head is resting on. Alicia-she smells like Alicia’s soap and that shampoo Al had found her. A hand comes to tug on her hair and Al whines, her scalp tender. She feels sticky and itchy with drying blood. Alicia is saying something frantic, and Luci responds. Al reaches, and someone takes her hand. She hopes it’s Luci. 

“Al, keep talking to me,” Alicia murmurs, and Al wants to so badly. 

“Feel sick,” she manages, her eyelids fluttering closed. Someone drags their knuckles down her sternum again. 

“Fuck off,” she moans, writhing uncomfortably as something tightens around the arm that hurts, “stop, let me sleep.”

“I can’t do that, honey,” June says. Al forces her eyes open and focused. She’s back at camp, staring up at the sky that’s partially obscured by Victor Strand’s face. Al grins up at him, trying to ignore the mounting agony in her body. 

“This is going to hurt, Al. Just keep focusing on staying awake.” 

June isn’t kidding. Victor is there to hold her down, and Al fights against him, screaming so loudly she knows they’ll have to relocate the camp when June is finished. Her voice shatters on a scream and then all she can do is pant, mouth gaping. Al is going to pass out. She can’t even locate the pain, she just knows it’s through her entire body and getting more severe. 

“Okay, stay with me sweetheart, it’s going to get worse.”

“How,” Al snarls, “can it get any worse?” She gasps and pants around her words, voice half gone from screaming. Someone wipes the sweat off her face and drips some water into her mouth. She swallows it gratefully. 

“3, 2, 1-” 

Al screams so loudly she knocks herself out. 

She wakes up in the cool semi darkness of the van, a wet cloth on her forehead and blankets over her body. The pain is still there, but not screaming level. Al opens her mouth to ask for water, assuming she’s not alone in her van, but instead she just moans weakly. So much for feeling better. A hand cups Al’s cheek. She’s cold and shivery, and the hand is warm, soft, smaller than Alicia’s but bigger than Charlie’s. Luci. 

“Hey.” 

Luciana crouches next to Al, pushing her hand through Al’s hair. It’s still got blood in it, and Al bets the rest of her is also crusted with blood. She wonders how much of it is actually hers. 

“Hey,” Al croaks. Her throat is raw from screaming, and the pain in her left side is getting more intense the longer she’s awake. She still can’t wiggle her fingers, but her toes move and her ankle rotates. She bends her knee experimentally and Luci frowns at her. 

“Be still. You took a beating.” 

“Yeah,” Al says, “I know. That’s why I’m testing my joints out.” 

“Well, quit,” Luci says, pressing her hand against Al’s right shoulder, “you’ll wear yourself out and get sick.” 

Al rolls her eyes but does as she’s told, allowing Luci to press a bottle of water in her right hand. Al takes a few sips and then grunts, handing it back.

“Where did we end up?”

“Hmm?”

Al rolls her eyes, grimacing. Her left shoulder and arm really, really, really hurt. Like really badly, worse than the rest of her bruised to shit body. She bets it’s broken or her shoulder got dislocated. 

“I know my screaming meant we had to leave where we were camped,” Al gasps, suddenly hit with another wave of fire through her nerves, “so how far did we go?”

“Couple hours down the road,” Luci says, reaching out to soothe Al as she begins to squirm worse, “take a deep breath, okay? I’m going to get June.”

“No, I’m fine-AH!” 

Al curls in on herself with a gasp , reaching to wrap her arms around her middle. The left one moves, she can feel it, but no hand joins with her right. Wait. No hand. Al turns her head to the side. Her left arm is bandaged from the shoulder down, but it ends above where her elbow is. Was. Used to be. Al shrieks.

“Shh, JUNE!”

Al feels herself descending into a panic attack and she can’t fight it, sucking air between her teeth and clutching at the raw stump of her left arm even as it makes the pain worse. Blood bubbles through the gauze on her arm but Al can’t stop herself from tugging at the bandages. She has to see it for herself, she has to-

“Baby! Baby, stop, shhh,” Alicia murmurs, tugging Al’s right arm into her lap. Al screams again in terror, fighting Alicia’s grip. She’s weak and exhausted and fading fast but she’s missing an entire fucking arm so she’s got the adrenaline for that. She shoves at Alicia, forcing herself to her feet and stumbling off the bench. She almost falls down the stairs of her van but Daniel is there, catching her. Al can’t help it when she presses her face into his shirt and starts to sob, looping the arm she still has around his neck. Daniel sits on the stairs of the van, rubbing Al’s back. 

“You’re strong, Althea,” Daniel says, “stronger than this. You will make it through.” 

“I’m useless,” Al sobs out, “a liability.”

“No,” Daniel says sternly, “you are not.” 

“I’m broken,” Al whispers, “I can’t fight anymore. I-”. It’s too painful to say it. The fight is bleeding out of her for good as they’re joined on the step by Alicia, who reaches out and smoothes a hand over Al’s tearstained cheek. 

“Oh, my love,” Alicia murmurs. Al reaches out and clings to Alicia’s shirt tiredly. She needs contact, needs to be held. The panic is wearing off and the pain is intensifying, taking over Al’s fear and completely dominating her brain. She moans a little. Daniel lifts her, carefully supporting her head and neck before laying her on a sleeping bag in the center of her van. Someone covers her up with blankets again. Alicia lays down next to her, and June kneels, carefully redoing bandages and smearing cream places. Al whines and whimpers, exhausted and barely coherent but awake enough to protest the pain. 

“All done. You can sleep, sweetheart,” June says, “Alicia? You good here?”

“Yeah,” Alicia murmurs. Al turns into Alicia’s side, resting her head on Alicia’s chest. Tears drip out onto Alicia’s shirt. Alicia rubs Al’s back and Al stops fighting it, letting herself drift into unconsciousness. 

The next couple of days are exhausting. Al is in and out of consciousness, mostly because June and Grace found some pretty kickass painkillers to give her along with antibiotics. Under the haze of narcotics, the whole “missing an arm” thing fades into a fuzzy background noise. Al is easily distracted by other things. 

Right now she’s under the showerhead on Grace’s truck and Alicia is massaging shampoo into her hair. Her stump is wrapped in a plastic grocery bag, and Al looks up into the shower spray with unfocused eyes. Alicia’s hands are magic, putting Al to sleep as she cleans layers of dried blood off Al’s scalp. Al dozes until the water shuts off and then lets Alicia pull her up and brace her against the truck, wiping her down with a towel. Al winces when the towel brushes against the litany of cuts and bruises from the explosion. Alicia murmurs something to her softly that Al doesn’t catch, and then Al slumps forward into her arms.

“Hi,” Al mumbles tiredly, aching. The most recent dose of pain medication is on the way out but it’s not to the point where Al feels like she’s going to start retching yet, so she’s fine. Alicia kisses her head and leans her back against the truck to dress her. Al cries out when her shirt tugs on the bandages over her stump, and then the tears just keep coming, even as Alicia walks her back to the van and tucks her back into their makeshift bed. 

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Al shakes her head.

She doesn’t know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al deals with her injuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Al deals with a lot of suicidal ideation in this chapter and says really ableist things about herself specifically. take care.

Alicia is pretty sure she’s going to see John carrying Al’s limp body out of a fucking minefield in her dreams for the rest of her short and violent life. Al, soaked in blood, some spurting from an arm that wasn’t completely blown off but was definitely beyond saving. Alicia had tied the tourniquet around Al’s bicep for June as June checked Al’s pupils and felt her neck. Al’s agonized scream at the jostling of her mangled arm had made Alicia nearly retch on the spot. 

Besides the growing river of blood from Al’s arm, most of the blood she had been wearing was Morgan’s. She had some broken ribs from being thrown backward, cuts and bruises and scrapes from hitting the ground, and a couple small burns on her face, neck, and chest. 

Alicia hadn’t been able to help June cut Al’s arm the rest of the way off or turn the mess into a useable stump. Victor had instead. Alicia had collapsed into Luciana’s waiting arms and sobbed until she fell asleep. 

She strokes a hand through Al’s hair. It’s been almost a week since she lost her arm, and she’s taking less painkillers and staying awake for longer stretches of time. Al is depressed, and it makes Alicia worry. 

“Hey,” Al croaks, “you’re messing up my carefully crafted hairdo.”

“You’ve had bed head for a week,” Alicia says, leaning down to give Al a gentle kiss. Al smiles against her mouth lopsidedly, then grimaces when they separate. Her left shoulder twitches and Al pinches her mouth. 

“You want more drugs?”

Al shakes her head. She pushes herself to sitting with her right arm, leaning against the wall behind her with a groan as her ribs start throbbing. Alicia helps her up, slinging Al’s arm around her shoulder. 

“I would say I can walk without help, but I don’t think it’s true,” Al says shakily, pressing her forehead into Alicia’s hair. They stand, swaying slightly, until Al lifts her head. The pain is worse when she moves, increased bloodflow to her injuries making them hurt worse. Or at least that’s what June said. 

“Wanna take a walk or just go sit somewhere with actual sunlight,” Alicia asks, wishing she could make the pain better. Al’s breathing is hitching in agony, and Alicia counts the hours since her last dose of drugs. Al hasn’t taken any since yesterday night, and it’s afternoon. 

“Sunlight,” Al gasps. 

“You need medicine,” Alicia says. 

“I’m fine,” Al chokes out, and then her knees buckle slightly as she lets go of Alicia to clutch at her ribs. 

“Clearly you aren’t. One pill. I won’t even make you take a full dose.” 

Al nods, letting Alicia carefully pull her arm from around her ribs and back over her shoulder. They hobble like the world’s least coordinated giraffe from the van to a reclining lawn chair claimed just for Al until her recovery, and Alicia lowers Al down into it, covering her with a blanket despite the heat. The amount of blood loss Al had experienced meant that she was still definitely dealing with low blood volume, and she was constantly freezing. Al thanks Alicia breathlessly and Alicia sits in the chair next to Al’s, opening her book. 

Al’s eyes close and she turns her face into the sun, sighing long and heavy. 

“You promised you would take a painkiller,” Alicia reminds her, pulling the bottle from her pocket. Al doesn’t open her eyes, just shakes her head. 

“I’m tired of how they make me feel,” Al murmurs, face still twisted with pain. 

“Constantly fighting the pain because you’re too stubborn for drugs isn’t helping you recover faster,” Alicia says. She’s exasperated. Getting Al to take even enough medication to keep her comfortable has been a fight for the past two days, and Alicia is tired of Al’s self imposed suffering. She shakes the bottle of pills at her.

“What’s the point of recovering,” Al spits. Her mood has been all over the place.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,” Alicia growls.

“I’m a fucking cripple now,” Al says, voice like steel, “it’s not like recovery is going to change that. I have one arm. How in the fuck am I supposed to fight zombies with one arm? Do anything with one arm? I can’t even hold a camera like this because you need two hands to get steady footage. I’m useless, Alicia. You may as well just put me down.” 

“Don’t talk like that,” Alicia says quietly, tucking the pills back into her pocket. Al’s eyes are still closed, but wet tears streak her bloodless face. Alicia reaches out to comfort her and Al slaps her hand away. 

“Talk like what? Like I’m making sense?”

“Al, Wendell is in a wheelchair and he’s the opposite of a liability.”

“Yeah, well, Wendell at least can still defend himself. I can’t even pump a shotgun or use a rifle.” 

“So we give you a pistol. You can still use a trench spike with one arm, I’ll just make sure to stay on your back.”

“Just stop, Alicia.” 

“We aren’t done with this conversation.”

“Well, we are for now.”

“Okay,” she sighs. It’s not the first time they’ve had a similar talk since Al lost her arm, and it’s not the first time Al has said she wants to be put down, but she refuses to even entertain the idea of Al being a liability. 

“You know I love you, right?”

Al doesn’t respond. 

~

Al is not having a great time being alive right now. 

The pain is constant, both agonizing and a permanent reminder of what she lost. Al would be angry if she could feel it anymore, but she used up the last of her anger on the fight with Alicia. 

June is checking her bandages, unwrapping her stump of a wasted limb. It’s angry red where the stitches are, and Al knows for a fact that more of it had to be cut away to create the stump. She knows enough about field injuries. It’s disgusting to look at, the stitches are black and they stand out against her skin. She turns her head away tiredly, pressing it into her makeshift pillow. 

“Alicia told me about your fight,” June says. She disinfects Al’s arm. Al flinches, barely avoiding screaming. She still hasn’t taken any painkillers, even though Alicia woke her up from a nap to get her to eat and take antibiotics. She’d held out a painkiller but Al had told her to throw them away. Alicia definitely did not throw them away. 

“What about it,” Al says tiredly. Her head is swimming from the pain. June puts antibiotic cream on her arm and this time Al can’t bite back her cries of pain, whimpering childishly while June wraps it back up with fresh bandages and then strokes her hand through Al’s hair until her cries die down and she’s left panting heavily, vision darkening at the edges. 

“Gonna pass out,” she chokes, “it hurts. Alicia. Please, Alicia.” 

Al hates fainting, especially without Alicia there to coax her back into consciousness. June just keeps stroking her hair, but Al knows she yelled for Alicia, because her hand is being gathered up and pressed to a chest. If she moves her head she’ll immediately lose consciousness. 

“Let it happen, yeah? I’ll be right here to get you to come back around.” 

Al cries out, because another wave of pain crashes over her, and then everything goes really gray and hazy, and then she’s back, in the recovery position. She feels so nauseous. 

“You need to take painkillers,” June says sternly. Al swallows back a wave of bile miserably. 

“Gimme a sec,” she manages, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“You nauseous?”

“Yeah,” Al whispers. She’s always nauseous after she passes out, something they discovered that super fun time Martha knocked her out and left her in a zombie infested street. She’d puked for 30 minutes. 

“Deep breaths or puking?”

“Maybe both,” Al breathes. Alicia rubs her back as she takes measured breaths, swallowing back saliva and bile. She ends up spitting up bile about 10 minutes after she passes out, wiping her mouth and falling onto her back tiredly. June is still in the van, and she checks Al’s pulse before sitting on the floor next to her head as Alicia lays down next to her. Al turns into Alicia’s arms, fight be damned. She feels like shit and wants to be held. 

“Al, we still need to talk about your feelings of wanting to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t have those,” Al mumbles into Alicia’s chest.

“Yeah you do, babe.”

Al shakes her head. June rests a hand on Al’s bruised back gently. 

“Al, I know you’ve been saying that someone should put you down for the past few days. That’s suicidal ideation.”

“No,” Al says, “it’s the truth. I can’t defend myself.”

“You can in time,” June says, “right now you’re weak, and adjusting, and very badly injured. No one is expecting you to be up to fighting snuff right this second, Al.”

“But what if I never am up to it?”

“We deal with it. We find you a safe place, where you’ll be protected.”

“That sounds like a load of shit,” Al says. 

“You’re allowed to be upset,” June says quietly, “and you’re allowed to be depressed, sweetie. You had a major trauma that has completely changed your life. But I need you to stay with us and not check out or hurt yourself. You’re important to a lot of people here, Al.”

“But what if I get someone else killed because I’m not able to protect myself?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Alicia snaps. 

“It may anyway.”

“Al,” Alicia barks, “I need you here. With me, not dead, not wanting to kill yourself because you think you’ll be a burden. You aren’t a fucking burden, alright? Jesus Christ,” she chokes on a sob, “if you think I’d be fine in this shithole world without you anymore you’re fucking delusional. I don’t care if you don’t want to live for yourself. I’m being selfish, and I’m saying you have to live for me.” 

They’re both crying, and June is sniffling. Al lets out a sharp noise of pain when her ribs start to ache.

“Now will you take some fucking oxy please,” Alicia sniffles.

“Only if you give me food with it. Puking with broken ribs hurts.” 

The painkillers still make her feel shitty. It’s like the longer she takes them the worse they make her feel and it’s probably only a matter of time before she starts puking them up. 

She’s clutching her cramping stomach, curled in her chair, when Charlie comes to plunk herself down next to her. Alicia is on a run so Al is dealing with anxiety plus pain plus opiod GI pain, and she almost snaps at Charlie to leave her alone.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Charlie says. She reaches out and squeezes Al’s hand. AL moans in response. She feels awful, shivering and cold even under the blankets Alicia covered her with. She wants to lay down.

“Help me to the van, kid,” Al slurs. The oxy makes her brain stop working, and it takes a few minutes to get up even with Charlie’s help.

“You got taller,” Al mumbles.

“Not really. You’re just walking half doubled over.”

Al laughs and then swallows convulsively when it makes her gag. Charlie helps her up the stairs and lays her down in bed, covering her with the blankets.

“You’re a little feverish,” Charlie whispers, “I’m going to go get June.”

“In a sec,” Al says, “I’m going to fall asleep. Please stay until I do.”

“Okay,” Charlie whispers quietly. Al feels her take her hand. 

She falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t take it anymore,” Al groans, clutching at her stomach. Alicia smooths her hair back.

“Al, the pain is still pretty bad when you don’t take the meds.

“Ugh,” Al mumbles, “but my stomach is killing-” Al cuts off with a dry heave, looking exhausted and so, so over it. 

“Okay,” Alicia concedes, rubbing Al’s back until Al decides she isn’t in fact going to vomit everywhere, “but I need you to take Advil, at the least.” 

Al nods. She’s pale, sticky with sweat. Alicia leans in to kiss her forehead and Al grumbles.

“Grace said you can take another shower today, if you want. We can wrap your arm up, if you’re up to it.”

Al groans, letting Alicia help her up. She sways, looking a little green, and Alicia looks for the bucket.

“I’m fine,” Al says breathlessly, “just a little woozy.”

Her head falls to Alicia’s shoulder and she sags into Alicia’s body. Alicia thinks that maybe she should find Victor to get Al to the shower safely. 

“Babe, do you mind if I get someone to help us?”

“I’m fine, Leesh,” Al repeats, getting heavier against Alicia’s body. Al’s knees give and Alicia can barely get her to the ground before she falls on her injured arm. 

“Okay, you so aren’t.”

Al lays her head back, throwing her arm over her face. She doesn’t look upset, just dizzy, and Alicia steps out of the van. Strand is over by June’s med tent, and he looks up as she approaches with a grin on his face.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of you stepping farther than 10 feet from Al for the first time in weeks?”

Alicia rolls her eyes at him, folding her arms. 

“I need to give Al a shower but she’s not feeling up to moving on her own, and she’s too weak to support enough of her own weight for me to help her. She trusts you enough to let you carry her over to Grace’s truck.” 

Strand nods, following Alicia back to the van. Al has rolled onto her right side and she’s panting, white knuckling the blanket. Alicia runs to her, kneeling on the bed next to Al. Al whimpers, looking up at Alicia through damp bangs.

“Did you get sick?”

“Uh uh,” Al mumbles, “just jostled my arm. That shit fucking sucked.” 

“Oh, Al,” Alicia murmurs, cupping Al’s sweaty cheek. She really does need a shower.   
“Can Strand carry you to Grace’s truck?”

“Can I bring a blanket,” Al slurs tiredly.

“Of course,” Strand says, “I’ll wrap you in it like a burrito.”

“Love burritos,” Al says. 

Al’s coherence and her pain increase without the oxy, but she’s actually willing to eat more now that her stomach isn’t upset from the painkillers. She’s curled in her chair, head resting on Luci’s shoulder as Luci reads to the kids. Al’s mouth is twisted into a grimace when Alicia gets back from her run and perches on the edge of her chair, kissing the top of Al’s hair.

“What are we reading today, Luci,” Alicia asks, fingers brushing through Al’s bangs. 

“Harry Potter,” Luci says, pressing her cheek to Al’s hair.

“When was the last time you had Advil,” Alicia asks quietly, after Luci goes back to reading. Al shrugs, letting out a near silent whimper when the motion irritates something injured on her body. 

“Like, two hours.”

“You wanna go nap?”

Al nods. 

Alicia slides into the bed, wrapping her arms around Al.

“How’s the pain, love?”

Al shrugs, pressing her cheek against Alicia’s shoulder. 

“Still bad. I’m just so tired, all the time.”

“You lost a ton of blood, and you know with broken ribs it’s hard to get enough air.”

“Yeah,” Al murmurs. She presses her face into Alicia’s boob and falls asleep. 

Alicia dozes with her, waking up when Al wakes up with a whimper for more painkillers. She falls into a deeper sleep after, Al’s warmth and rhythmic breathing lulling her into a heavy nap. 

“Wake up. Wake up, wake up, NOW, ALICIA!”  
Someone is shaking her shoulder, and Al’s shoulder, from the sound of Al’s sharp cry of agony. It’s hard to wake up, really hard, she’s so warm and comfy, but she’s starting to hear screaming and the shaking is just getting harder and harder. Al cries out again and Alicia’s eyes snap open. 

“What’s happening-Luci, Luci, you’re hurting her!”

Luciana is in tears, hands bloody and face spattered with gore. Al is sitting up with her back against the wall, hands shaking as she tries to put on her boots and put her trench spike in her belt. Screams are echoing on the outside of the van, but the doors are closed. Whatever is happening, it’s not good. 

“There’s-” Luci gasps in a sobbing breath, “There’s a herd. Alicia, it’s bad, and it’s all hands on deck.”

“Not Al-”

“No,” Al wheezes, “I can help.”

“Al-”

“There’s no time to argue,” Luci snaps, “if you’re helping, you’re helping. We have to hurry, people are already dying-”

Luci falls to her hands and knees and lets out a sound like she’s dying. Alicia finishes lacing her boots, fishing her gun barrell out from under the seat. Al is shaking so hard her teeth are clacking together, and Alicia can only deal with one emergency at a time.

“Al, Al, hey. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” Al gasps, “I can’t go out there, and I can’t stay in here waiting to die.”

“You aren’t going to die in here,” Al says firmly. Al grips her trench spike so hard her knuckles go white.

“I have to do this, don’t I,” Al whispers. She gets to her feet shakily but stays on them. Luci wipes at her face tiredly, looking to Alicia. 

“Al, stay with us, alright? If anything goes down, get back to the van and close and lock the doors, okay?”

Al nods tightly. Most of her focus is definitely going towards staying on her feet. Alicia leans in and presses a kiss to her mouth, cupping Al’s neck and letting her fingers tangle in Al’s short hair for the briefest of seconds. 

It’s a bloodbath. Stuff like this shouldn’t happen in broad daylight, but it’s happening, and Alicia kills five walkers before she even makes it down the steps of the van. Al stays close to her, and Alicia can hear her groaning when she kills walkers. The problem isn’t the walkers, per se, but the fact that the caravan had gotten lazy and sloppy and people were paying the price. Alicia stabs a walker through the head right after it gets its teeth into an older woman she wants to say is named Joyce, and when she whips around, Al is gone. 

“AL!” 

No answer. Alicia panics, running from Joyce and fighting her way through the mob. She gets swamped by walkers, stuck in a mire of them. She hears someone scream her nap, Luci, but she can’t react or even move until all the walkers are dead. 

It’s over within 10 minutes, the ground littered with bodies both old and new. Survivors stand aimlessly, staring at the carnage, and Alicia can’t see Al, not yet. 

“Alicia! I could use some help!”

There are at least 10 people lined up in front of June, sporting various injuries, and Alicia knows most of them must be bites. She begins by telling a mother of two that she’s been bitten. Her heart is aching in her chest and she still can’t find Al, until-

“Alicia!” 

Al and Luci are limping towards her and June like a three legged dog, slow, uneven, and stiff. Al is swaying on her feet, and Luci manages to catch her before she goes down. Alicia scrambles towards her from where she’s helping June check the infected. Al’s eyes are fluttering, face slick with sweat. Luci is murmuring something quietly to Al as Alicia cups her face gently. Al’s eyes roll open tiredly.

“Are you hurt,” Alicia demands.

Al shakes her head, knees buckling. She’s completely dead weight and it takes both of them to get her over to a chair and into it. Al is shaking, and Alicia starts stripping her down methodically. There are no bites, just healing cuts and bruises, and Alicia lets out a sigh of relief as she gets Al clean clothes out of the van. Al is conscious but barely, clinging to wakefulness, and she’s no help in dressing herself in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Alicia strokes Al’s hair back from her sweaty face and then goes to pin the sweatshirt sleeve at the base of Al’s stump. Al whimpers, curling onto her side and grabbing a fistful of Alicia’s shirt. 

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

Al nods. 

“Let’s put you to bed, huh?”

Al goes willingly, too tired to even speak. She’s not supporting her own weight, but she’s light enough that they can basically drag her to the van and haul her up the stairs. Alicia takes Al’s shoes off and tucks her into their makeshift blanket bed. 

“Stay,” Al whispers, but Alicia can’t. There are people to check, people they’ll have to put down, and Alicia needs to be there to help. 

“I can’t, baby,” she says, and Al’s eyes fill with tears. Alicia feels guilt deep in her chest.

“I’ll stay, mami,” Luci says gently, laying down next to Al and tucking her into her arms. Al goes willingly, mostly asleep but still crying. She’s asleep before Alicia makes it to the door of the van, tears streaking her pale cheeks. 

Alicia has to put down three people before Strand takes over for her. She can’t see through her tears, but she stumbles blindly to Al’s van. They’ll have to move on soon, once the bodies are dealt with and mourning is complete, and then start over, but right now all Alicia can think of is watching Al breathe. 

Luci looks up from a book when Alicia comes in and opens her arms, letting Alicia fall into them with a wail. It doesn’t even wake Al up, and Alicia reaches for Al’s wrist and clutches at her pulse point.

“Shhhh, shhhh. I know, Alicia. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” she chokes out, “it’s not, Luci, it’s not.”

“It will be,” Luci murmurs, “in time.” 

They move the remnants of the caravan before Al wakes up. Luci drives the van and Alicia curls into the bed with Al, studying Al’s face. They stop in a clearing, the caravan reduced so much that every car can fit. Daniel is there when they open the back door of the van. 

“Are you all alright?”

Alicia nods, too exhausted to argue. Daniel hugs her gently and mumbles a few words to Luci in Spanish. Alicia and Luci collect food and go back into the dim van, settling where they can watch Al sleep. 

“We need to stop,” Luci says suddenly, picking at her dinner, “it’s going to get us killed,”

Alicia stares at the stump of Al’s left arm where it peeks out from the blankets, an upper arm and then an empty, dangling sleeve, and nods. 

For all the people she loves, they need to stop.


End file.
